


all the world's a stage

by nebula5



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebula5/pseuds/nebula5
Summary: Bafflingly, Benvolio begins to feel something other than animosity towards his betrothed. In fact, quite the opposite.And Rosaline… Well, he’s fairly sure Rosaline knows. He doesn’t know which is worse.





	all the world's a stage

 

 

  
  
A week after the failed public betrothal in the town square, Benvolio pays a servant to bring him the belongings found on Truccio’s body. He receives nothing but a small pouch of coins, which he tosses to the man, and a rolled scrap of paper. The ink is smudged, but he makes out the instructions of where to find the cart, which window to shoot from. At the bottom of the note is a single flourished G. He sighs, not much closer to the truth now than he was in the morning.  
  
He considers what Rosaline would do if she were here, and realizes that he can very well ask her himself. He sends another boy to deliver his message, and in an hour Rosaline Capulet herself is strolling through the Montague estate to meet him.  
  
“My beloved!” he cries when she enters the garden, rising to meet her. He bows dramatically and takes her hand to kiss it, and she rolls her eyes in response.  
  
“I’ve missed you.” He finds that he really does mean it. Trapped in the house of his hateful uncle, she is becoming the closest thing he has to a confidant.  
  
“We saw each other two days ago, Montague.” Her tone is annoyed, but she smiles anyway. After being so used to her scowling, Benvolio notes that this expression suits her much better.  
  
“Well,” she says, as he leads them to a bench. “What is it that you wanted to show me?”  
  
“This.” He pulls the scrap of paper from under his doublet. “It was found among Truccio’s things.”  
  
She frowns, and bends her head to examine it. A stray curl brushes against his temple, and Benvolio curbs the urge to tuck it back behind her ear.  
  
“Perhaps one of the other families was behind this?” He suggests.  
  
Rosaline runs her fingers over the blotched ink. “A G… The Grimaldis?”  
  
“There’s also the Genoa, the Gonzaga...”  
  
“No, I doubt it,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Even combined, none in Verona would be able to take down both our houses so easily.”  
  
Benvolio watches as she hums and haws, her brow knitting in concentration. She was always beautiful before, he thinks idly, but there is something specifically captivating about her face as she becomes lost in thought.  
  
He frowns to himself, since when did captivating become a word to describe her?  
  
She bites down on her lip then, and Benvolio finds his gaze drawn to her mouth.  
  
Thankfully, he’s distracted from further thoughts about Rosaline’s lips by a flutter of blue a few feet away.  
  
“We can never get any privacy here,” he mutters.  
  
“What is it?” Rosaline asks.  
  
“The servants, no doubt lurking too close and ready to report anything to my uncle. He will want to know what this is if he finds out about it,” he says, tucking the paper under his palm to shield it from prying eyes.  
  
Benvolio considers somewhere else they can talk alone, when Rosaline slides closer to him on the bench.  
  
“Well,” she says, voice suddenly soft and sweet. “Shall we give them a show then?”  
  
“What?” Her expression is different, no longer serious as it was moments ago, but mischievous.  
  
She slips her hands beneath his open doublet to rest against his collarbone, and immediately Benvolio’s gut flips with nervous anticipation.  
  
“What are you doing?” he hisses, fully aware of what she intended to do next. Why exactly was beyond him, as he was quite sure she only barely tolerated him.  
  
“Nothing,” she answers, smiling innocently, even as she raises a hand to slip into the hair curling at the nape of his neck. “Why, Montague, you’re blushing.”  
  
It's true. Under her steady gaze, Benvolio feels the tips of his ears grow hot. He sputters, and would have leapt off the bench had her hands not held him still. She raises an eyebrow and pulls him closer, and his heart pounds traitorously in his chest. God in heaven, when had she turned him into such an idiot?  
  
“Capulet,” he mutters, but before he can say another word, Rosaline kisses him squarely on the mouth.  
  
He stiffens, which is foolish, because he realizes with a shock that he has wanted this for a very, very long time.  
  
She releases his shirt to spread her palm against his bare skin, and the contact sends a shaky thrill straight through him. He relents with a groan, cupping her face and slipping an arm around her waist. When he slants his head to kiss her back properly, he can feel her smile against his lips.  
  
A tiny voice in the back of his head reminds him that this is madness. He shouldn’t be kissing her in the first place, and he certainly shouldn’t be enjoying it this much.  
  
Rosaline’s tongue brushes into his mouth, and just like that, the tiny voice is silenced. He shivers. For someone who claims so defiantly to not be in love, she seems to know exactly how to elicit a response from him.  
  
Benvolio doesn’t know how long they stay like that, pressed against each other on the bench in the garden. He can scarcely think of anything else besides the feel of her in his arms: soft and warm and intoxicating. He feels hot and lightheaded, and knows absolutely that the cause is Rosaline's mouth against his, rather than the bright afternoon sun.  
  
She sighs, and he moans, and someone else entirely coughs, and Benvolio breaks away from Rosaline with a yelp.  
  
_Oh God._  
  
“Uncle,” he says, trying his best to control his heaving breaths. Beside him, Rosaline, ever the actress, at least pretends to look mortified.  
  
Lord Montague clears his throat. “It is good to see you, lady Rosaline, but once you have quite finished with your betrothed, I wish to speak to him.”  
  
“Of course, my lord.” She stands to curtsy, dark lashes fluttering against her cheek. The perfect picture of a lover embarrassed.  
  
When she glances at him though, her eyes are bright. She would be laughing at him if his uncle were not standing right in front of them.  
  
Lord Montague nods, seemingly at a loss for words after seeing his nephew locked in an embrace with the one woman he had so ardently refused to marry. With one last accusing look aimed at him, his uncle turns on his heel and returns to the house.  
  
Benvolio collapses back onto the bench, dragging his hands over his face.  
  
“God,” he mutters.  
  
This time Rosaline does laugh, and Benvolio turns to glare at the cause of both his pleasure and his misery.  
  
“Does it please you to distress me so, Capulet?”  
  
“Distress? If I recall correctly, you responded very enthusiastically.”  
  
He huffs, but again, she’s right. She knows it too, which is marginally more alarming.  
  
“No doubt tongues will be wagging all over Verona by nightfall. 'Benvolio Montague and his betrothed! Behaving so scandalously in public!'”  
  
She grins and spreads her hands. “What can I say? I just wanted to visit my beloved.”  
  
At the mention of his favoured nickname for her, he rolls his eyes.  
  
“But alas,” she says, retrieving the scrap of paper from where it had fluttered to the ground during their kiss, forgotten. “Decency dictates that I really should be leaving now. Especially after that.”  
  
“Oh,” he says, taking the note from her. Their fingers brush, and Benvolio has to fight down the inexplicable burst of warmth in his chest. “So soon?” he winces at the disappointment in his own voice.  
  
She pats his cheek. “Yes, Montague. But worry not, you shall see me again soon enough. We still have much to discuss.”  
  
He walks her back to the gates, where a carriage is already waiting to whisk her away. He takes her hand to kiss it, but she shakes her head and taps her cheek.  
  
_This woman really will be the death of me_ , Benvolio thinks, and obeys.  


 

...

 

  
  
When she returns home, Livia is already waiting for her in her chambers. She grins when Rosaline closes the door behind her.  
  
“I hear you've very recently warmed up to your betrothed,” Livia says, one eyebrow arched knowingly. News travelled quickly in this town indeed.  
  
“Oh please, Livia, it was only for the sake of appearances.”  
  
“And by all appearances Benvolio Montague seems to be quite taken with you.”  
  
Rosaline snorts, but she’s noticed the change in the Montague’s demeanor for a while now. Ever since their disastrous betrothal ceremony, his eyes have been kinder, his snide remarks lacking their former bite, and coming few and far between. She would never admit it, but he is becoming less of an enemy, and more of an ally, as the days pass.  
  
“I suppose,” she sighs. “It’s fun to tease him, though. You should have seen him squirm after we were discovered.”  
  
Livia gawks at her. “Discovered? Tease him? So you feel nothing towards him, at all?”  
  
“Nothing at all,” she replies firmly. “We are… partners in this whole affair, nothing more.”  
  
“My dear sister,” Livia laughs. “You are either crueler to men than I remember, or you are lying to yourself, just a little.”

  
  
...

 

  
  
Later, much later, in the dark of night, Rosaline brushes her fingers across her lips.  
  
Benvolio had kissed her so eagerly, his hands spread carefully across her hip and cheek to hold her to him. And then after, when they had been caught. The blush across his cheeks had made him look so boyish, sweet even, if she dared.  
  
She sighs, rolling over in her bed. The sooner they sorted out this whole feud and averted their doomed marriage, the better.  
  
Rosaline squeezes her eyes shut to sleep, and does her very best not to think about Benvolio's warm skin beneath her hands, or the taste of his lips, or the way her heart is suddenly beating much too fast at the memory of their afternoon together.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> not much plot here, and I am aware of who the real masterminds were in the book, but I needed to write something because I'm dying waiting for the next episode
> 
> crossing my fingers for some closure and a lot of romance before the finale :')


End file.
